In The Still Of The Night Shift
by kitty1
Summary: It's another Halloween, and Lucy, Luka, Dave, Mark and Abby just aren't in the mood.
1. Default Chapter Title

  
'In the Still of the Night Shift'  
  
Rating: PG... Nothing you haven't seen before;)   
Archive: Go for it. Just don't forget to tell me!  
Disclaimers: These are my characters, I created them, and I'll do what I want with them!! Just kidding, Warner (yeesh!;).   
Author's notes: Ok lets all pretend we're back at the end of series 5/beginning of series 6, and all the characters are having lousy, no-good days (all together now-ahhhh;). Anyhow, this story deals with character angst. And um, girls in tight leather cat suits. I kid you not;)  
  
And the song used is 'Night Shift' by Foghat. But feel to listen to whatever ails you;)   
  
Hope you like it, and e-mail me with any comments you have at angelpixiedust@bolt.com. (to be continued maybe?).  
  
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The stream of people continued to flow around them as they walked through the hall. A potent blend of the sick, the dying, the healthy, the dead and the medical shaped egos all filing past them as quickly as they appeared. Lucy watched the parade, in mute awareness. She mentally rationed off who was going where. The little boy was being dragged to see a dying relative, probably a very old one, with big lipsticked lips. The business woman was going to be shown her dead husband. The nervous, twitching med student, was going to tell a lady that her husband, and father of her children was dead. His first time. She avoided being hit by a moving gurney. Paramedics going to rescue a 911. And well, she thought in mute awareness, the rest were most likely going to meet they're masters.   
  
She resumed feign interest in what Carter was telling her. "Nausea, symptoms of angina..." She blinked, pulling as much air into her lungs as was possible. She wondered what she was having for dinner.  
  
His voice again. "I want-" Yeah Lucy thought, you want. I can't sit down without you wanting. I want a history Lucy, I want some coffee, I want you to focus Lucy, I want your ovaries- "-Hmm?"  
  
She watched him turn towards her. She tried to psychically bring a smile to his face. Once again, her psychic abilities failed her. "I said I want you to check her ovaries Luce." Oh yeah, she thought numbly. Right. Ovaries. She put a little red tick next to them in her mind.  
  
*Now* she was sure that he was saying something. She squinted at the words. "Blah, blah, blah, blah." No. She dodged out of the way of another speeding gurney. She again watched him. His mouth moved, but all that escaped was one, dull, long, endless moan. Was this what patients heard when they were being diagnosed? Medical jargon coming out as a strange, mindless, incomprehensive language. Completely unintelligible.  
  
Her head began to spin.  
  
"Lucy?" the moans had disappeared. The words began to take solid shape again. Lucy. That was who she was. Lucy.  
  
"Hmmm?" She grunted.  
  
"You know if she has any relatives?"  
  
Lucy shrugged, her mind several time zones away. "Yep, sure, lots and lots of them."  
  
She blinked. He *was* smiling. "Lucy? You ok?"  
  
Carter stopped walking abruptly and she bumped against him. And yet, the world continued to move around her. She became aware of the concern in his tone, and shook her head, trying to make sense of what he was saying.   
  
*What?* Lucy thought exasperated. Her mute senses became aware of Carter's face blurring into two, and then back into one again. She suddenly felt tired. *Too* tired. With one last ounce of energy she turned around to see why her world had gone all fuzzy. And then with mute senses she could feel the coolness of the ground as it met her head.  
  
---------------------  
  
Mark sighed. Click, click. Shortness of breath. Click, click. Dull headaches, mornings. Click, click. Sore throat. Click, click. Will he miss Bull's game on Friday? Click, click. He hesitated, re-reading his notes. He shook his head, and with another click of his pen his stray thoughts vanished from the page.  
  
"So, you want to give up smoking?" He sighed, already knowing what the answer would be, and then his following reply.   
  
Mark hated stereotypes. Hated the whole idea of them. And, yet, with diseases, everything was either stereo-typical this, or text-book symptoms that, and in medical terminology everybody soon became just another stereotype.   
  
He shifted on his feet, his gaze falling across the bleached white walls and the cracked ceiling to the middle-aged man in a suit that really had to be somewhere else right now, so would he like to get on with it?  
  
Was it merely becoming boring? Is that what it was? He'd long ago forgotten the thin line between boredom and sleep deprivation, but he'd been feeling restless for several weeks yet. Maybe he just needed a more pro-active social life. A cup of coffee and that day's special at Doc Mcgoos every Thursday and Friday night followed by a Blockbuster video weren't exactly adrenaline pumping activities.  
  
"So, you want us to fork out for some hypnotist you saw on Oprah to help you give up nicotine?"  
  
Routine. Everything had just become one more daily ritual. The guy who needed some more addictive pain meds, the girl who forgets to use condoms with her abusive alcoholic not-really-her-proper-boyfriend boyfriend, the mother whose child really looked like it was turning blue -but you had to see him from particular angles under certain lights. Everybody, before long, looked like everybody else. And everybody else began to look more and more like nobody else. And when patient's began to look like nobody's you knew that they were at risk. But what could he do?  
  
"No, no, we can't make you a priority patient. No, not even if you have an important multi-millionaire client you've got an appointment with in half an hour."  
  
Click, click. In the last minute at least two million people were falling in love. This did not include him. Click, click. In the last thirty seconds at least a million people were falling out of love. This did not include him. Click, click. In the last ten seconds maybe half a dozen or so had changed the world. This did not include him. Click, click. And in the last second at least one person had found themselves questioning their life choices and had tried to calculate where it had all gone wrong. Click, click. And this, maybe, included him.   
  
"So, you would rather go to work than make sure you aren't suffering from a potentially life threatening disease?"  
  
He had had long hair once. Listened to anti-politically affiliated music. Stood up in class and yelled, 'Down with the war in Vietnam.' He was going to change the world. And he knew, somewhere inside of him, lay a long haired, peace signing, Bob Dylan listening bad boy just waiting to get out.  
  
Mark sighed. Click, click. Chest X-ray. Click, click. Blood sample. Click, click. Do we have a fax-e-mail-phone he could use? Click, click. He hesitated, re-reading his notes. He shook his head, and with another click of his pen his stray thoughts vanished from the page.  
  
------------------------------  
  
"Working on a night shift,  
High on a 'fore day drive  
I'm energized from sundown to sunrise,  
And I'll sleep from nine to five,  
Shadows fallin' all down the li-ine  
Get ready 'cause it's night shift ti-ime  
  
...dum, dum, dee, dee-dee dum, and then some-really cool guitar solo...," Her un-manicured, tooth marked nails drummed against the speaker absently.  
  
Reverting her eyes back to page 378, paragraph 18, line 98 and the 876th word, she again attempted to make it speak English. She squinted, pulling her hair back and forcing herself to absorb the words in front of her, which only served to make them irritate her further.   
  
"Ok, words, tell me what you're thinking. Come on, hit me," she muttered moodily, scanning from line to line. 'Inflammation and constriction of the bronchioles is a reaction to allergic or non-allergic stimulation. Treatment is with beta-2 agonists such as albuterol...'   
  
-"and get ready 'cos it's night shift ti-ime..."  
  
Abby hated this the most. Dense paragraphs and pages and diagrams and vocabulary that was only ever there to make it appear smarter than it actually was. It was like once the authors had been through med school they somehow earned the right to talk in riddles and fancy Shakespearean English.  
  
She filled in another 'oh' with her biro.   
  
And then making her chair squeal across the linoleum she got up, and left the muddle of medicine alone. The radio continued to entertain the dull silences that the empty lounge area seemed to evoke.  
  
She eyed the marooned contents of tins, sandwiches and saucepans in the fridge with disdain. Yikes. Weren't doctors supposed to be health nuts? Half the stuff in there looked as though it would walk out when her back was turned.   
  
Come on...There *had* to be something...opened strawberry yoghurt, dishes of day old pasta, ohhh...  
  
Content with her discovery she retuned to the blur of words swimming around in the dim lighting.   
  
"-I got a feeling that I can't mistake  
Sun rises and I'm still awake-"  
  
...many of the symptoms--fever, neck stiffness, photophobia, and in numerous cases, altered mental status...  
  
"-I'll play my music - I don't mind working over time-"  
  
...as cerebral abnormalities, cerebellar malformation, hydrocephalus...  
  
"-And if I lose it, I'll come and... something, something, dee-dee, some-thing-"  
  
...resulting in death or a permanent vegetative state (PVS)...  
  
"-So get ready 'cos it's night shift ti-ime."  
  
"Hey Abby, you seen a bowl of corn flakes lying around?" She heard Dave ask from the doorway of the fridge.  
  
"No, Dave, sorry."  
  
She could hear him sigh, mumbling and cursing the surgeons who thought that they could waltz down there whenever the hell they felt like it and have a pick at whatever they damn well pleased.   
  
The door slammed shut behind him, and she grudgingly returned to page 378, paragraph 19 and a quarter, line 116 and word 982, and sighed.  
  
"So get ready 'cos it's night shift ti-ime..."  
  
------------  
  
"I-er-I-a, no-a speaking the English."  
  
Luka Kovac sighed loudly. "Well, don't you think that it would be best if you let me speak to someone who does?" He asked, not attempting to mask the frustration and irritation in his tone.   
  
A light bulb seemed to go off above the Latin girl's head. "I-er-I is get you somebody who is-a speaking the English."  
  
"Great. Yes. That's a great idea," Luka muttered humourlessly, his grip on the phone tightening with boredom and frustration.  
  
"Oh-a, OK. One moment please. You-a hold on."  
  
"No, don't-" but it was too late. His angry voice was soon drowned out to the strains of dodgy, two star motel jazz music. He groaned.   
  
Weren't these people ever taught just how vital a hospital phone call could be? Someone's liver could have been coming through, a new-born could have been in need of immediate transport to someone, some where who *could* perform the kind of miracle they needed. Lives could have been on hold. All time, hope, reduced to that one phone call. Reduced to bad, second rate elevator music.  
  
"Hello third floor receptionist, how may I help you?"  
  
He gave out another, more thankful sigh on hearing a human, intelligible voice on the other end. "Hello, this is Dr. Kovac I'm calling from the emergency department. I was wondering if you could send maintenance over, the men's toilet is um," his mind tried to find a suitable American word. "It is flowing everywhere."  
  
Ok, so maybe he wasn't saving lives, or helping little kids who needed new lungs, but, well, he could have been.  
  
Today had just been one of those days. One of those days where people, patients, colleagues, seemed more of an occupational hazard than anything else. It wasn't even a personal thing. No vendetta's, no bad vibes, and not even the bad karma seeping from Romano having anything to do with it.   
  
He was just exhausted. Physically; For having to spend forever and a day on constant alert mode. Ceaselessly washing hands, scrubbing between each finger, each thumb. Never sleeping. Never eating. And yet consistently having to be perfect, and concise, and accurate. Always having to be on top of things.  
  
Mentally. From the strain of having to always hold someone's hand, comfortingly, reassuringly, and compassionately. Acutely aware of every symptom, every diagnoses, every medication. Having to clock them through his mental encyclopaedia at 200 miles per hour. Having to remember names, and faces, and every bad, fatal, contagious thing that could ever afflict someone. Having to know that death was never an impossibility.   
  
And then emotionally. Family, friends, TV's- He never had any time for any of them, let alone himself. His spare time was spent under bad lighting, reading annals and the like. It was all too easy to forget that there was a life beyond the hospital walls, that people did just go out after work for no other reason that to socialise. That people laughed, and stayed out late, drank too much, never once thinking about train crashes, or bed sores, or anything remotely squeamish.   
  
Randi shoved another chart under his nose. "Old lady in four needs some TLC."  
  
Luka found himself frowning. "Tell Mark to-"  
  
Randi shook her head, as she returned her focus back to her duties. Now where was that nail file?  
  
"But why-?"  
  
Randi seemed surprised by his persistence. "She specifically asked for the dark and sultry guy with the European accent. That's you."  
  
Luka groaned. Great. Once again he was befuddled by his past.   
  
The jazz music was still playing through his ear. He sighed, and fiddled with the cord, knowing full well that winding and unwinding phone wire was not going to increase the speed of the person on the other end.   
  
He contemplated the use of adopting an American accent. Thinking about the possibility of trying it out on some hapless phone operator.   
  
Suddenly, he was aware of a small tug at his green scrub shirt. He turned around to find an old lady with an intoxicating smile across her face. He returned it with difficulty.   
  
"Kovac isn't it? You treated me a few weeks back, don't you remember?" She said, the smiling causing her dry skin to crack.  
  
Luka shook his head, smiling weakly, and condemning all phone misuser's to hell. Or at least to a bad yeast infection. "Yeah, sure I do, Miss, uh-"  
  
"Miss. Frost. That ointment you gave me really seemed to work." She paused, "Would you like me to show you?"  
  
Luka smiled politely as the lady began pulling up her flowery dress. He could see a grin begin to find it's way across Randi's mouth. "Uh, no, Miss Frost. It's OK. Really." He paused, "If you get back to Exam Room 4 I'll be there as soon as I can, OK?"  
  
The woman nodded enthusiastically, and after several more words of thanks and praise, made her way back down the halls, and into the room from whence she came. Luka dragged a tired palm across his face.  
  
"Smooth Luka. *Real* smooth." He heard Randi mutter beneath her breath.  
  
Why couldn't his luck with women work when he actually *wanted* it to?   
  
He returned his distraction back to the phone in his hand. He could hear some ruffling before a voice was heard.   
  
"Hello, this is Dr. Mason. I'm not here at the moment, but if you would like to contact me, then please dial 2 for my mobile number, 3 for my hospital pager number, 4 for my own personal pager, and 5 if you would like to speak to my secretary. Or if you could please hold on for a second you could leave your message at the tone. Thank you for calling. Have a nice day and goo-"   
  
Discarding the phone and picking up his chart (and the other one which Randi kindly reminded him to finish up) he walked back out into the thick of the un-living.  
  
-------------------  
  
Dave completed another spin on his chair. The admin area becoming one long wall of colour again. He could feel the contents of his stomach give protest, but he allowed the wall of colour to melt back into solid shapes before he took heed.  
  
"Patient in two needs..." Dave watched Weaver's lips move with tired numbness. The words falling out, clicked to his dulled neurotransmitters. Medication, xylocane, amitriptyline, three weeks, four months, psych consult, three weeks, four months, counseling, now, now, now. And then his world became a wall of colour again.  
  
His chair shuddered to a halt, and he dumbly reached out for something to balance him. The adrenaline giving him the ability to think in whole sentences again. "I was listening Weaver. Heard every word you said." Kerry extracted her foot from the wheel of Dave's chair, and she continued to look down her nose at him. Not, that that was a new thing.  
  
He regurgitated all the information she had bombarded him with, and then she eased the frown she was giving him. "OK, Dave. Good." He looked up at her, in what he hoped was a disarming manner. She continued to purse her lips, and he could hear her psychological foot tapping away impatiently.  
  
He sighed, longing for his wall of colour. "Um..."  
  
She raised her eyebrows despairingly, "The patient Dave. Some time this century would be welcome."  
  
He managed to will his feet into life, and found himself leaving Weaver's menacing gaze behind. It was the twenty-sixth hour in a thirty-six hour shift, and the more patients he saw, the more he longed for his own personal virus. Something debilitating, something numbing, and most of all something that would confine him to bed for the next few months with his own band of nurses, med students and doctors surrounding him.  
  
Hadn't the woman ever heard of a break? Of over working? Of the rare form of humanity that had been going around? He sighed, finding exam room three.  
  
He stood at the door, blinked and rubbed at his eyes.   
  
Nope, the two girls in tight leather cat suits were still lying across the bed, chatting girlishly, blonde and red hair all mussed up. He found a smile rising in his cheekbones. He owed Weaver. Owed her big.  
  
Silently thanking God for dress-code only Hallowe'en parties he approached the young ladies. And in his most charming beside manner, reserved for sweet old ladies, Weaver and girls in latex said.   
  
"Good afternoon ladies, what can I do for you today?"  
  
-------------  
  
To be continued...?  
  
  



	2. Default Chapter Title

  
In The Still of The Night shift (part II):  
'He Who Asks, Gets'  
  
Rating: PG. It's good clean and wholesome.   
Archive: Go for it.   
Disclaimer: Look Warner et al, I'm pretty sure you guys know you own the rights to the characters and the show, but if you want it in blood-no, I do not own or am any way affiliated with ER or it's cast/show/characters/crew, and anyway, suing people is real mean;)  
Author's notes: This is beginning to look like an alternate reality story, set some time around the end of series 5 and the beginning of series 6. It' follows on from 'In the Still of the Night Shift,' but I've decided to liven up their pot-pouri of a day. Aren't I kind?  
  
Oh and I'd like to thank my one and only beta, Samantha Carter, for putting up with all my coffee induced ramblings, and giving me gentle nudges in the right directions. She's also a fellow fanfic writer, and has written some pretty neat stuff, so if you've got time, GO READ!  
  
Please (!!!) send any comments, abuse etcetera to angelpixiedust@bolt.com. Even if it's just to tell me how great you think Carter looks in a scrub shirt...  
  
---------------------------  
  
Dave threw in another one of his killer, Colgate smiles, as he stepped outside of the exam room. And then, with just a mild display of ego, he strutted down the hallway to wipe the girls names off the board.  
  
He could be really good when he wanted to be.  
  
The nursing staff was busy ordering triages, re-ordering charts and picking straws on who would get the five year olds who were puking up projectile candy everywhere in four.  
  
"I love Halloween," he muttered to himself as he made a dive for another chart.   
  
Carol looked up at him, slightly bemused at this statement of which she disagreed wholeheartedly. "Sure you do Malucci. Scrubs on too tight again, huh?"  
  
Dave grinned back at her as his hands browsed through the list of possible patients. "No, actually I've just made some very hot plans for tonight."  
  
Carol looked back at him dryly, "Right. So what did she come in for?"  
  
The self-satisfied grin refused to wane. "Actually it's a party. In one of those high-rise suites by the river."  
  
Carol raised an eyebrow impressed. "Oh really." She paused, looking at him expectantly. "And...?"  
  
He eyed her again, content with the chart in his hands. "And...? And what?"  
  
"And she wants to know if we can tag along." Malik cut in with a smile as he dropped several admin forms in front of Randy.  
  
Dave thought about it momentarily. Wasn't this supposed to be his *escape* from the toils of everyday life? He eyes fell on Carol, who was still looking up at him, a glimmer of hope in her tired eyes. Then back at Malik, who was at that point in his shift where baby puke and bloodstains were worn as a badge of honour, a testament to his semi-conscious state, and then Dave shrugged. "Sure, why not? Wouldn't hurt to spread some of my good luck around."  
  
Carol and Chunni beamed at this, and Malik nudged him playfully. "Dave you are the man."  
  
He began walking out of the admin area, in search of the '6 yr female, malnutrition' in his hands. "Yeah, I know." He muttered to himself with an impish grin, and then quickly resumed with his strutting over to the exam room (with just a mild display of ego).  
  
-----------------------------  
  
That last sentence seemed to echo in Lucy's head. She sat up with a jerk; this was followed by a sharp sensation to the side of her head. Seconds later another one followed. She attempted to open her eyes, removing her hands from clamping her ears shut. She closed her mouth when she realised that it hadn't been an echo; she was still screaming. This was followed by a silence, and then another thud. "Oww!" She whimpered petting the dull object away from her whilst simultaneously rubbing her head with her left hand. Whose bright idea had it been to leave a light bulb there? She found a mental picture of Dave reeling off a list of reasons to Kerry as to why reading lamps should be instated. Reason one: the Victoria's secret catalogue is a lot more entertaining with good lighting.  
  
"Whoa, watch it." A male voice said breaking into her adjustment into consciousness. Her surroundings suddenly seemed to clarify themselves. Kinda. Two faces above hers kept merging and then separating. Like a tequila nightmare.  
  
"What? Where...?" She made a more successful attempt at opening her eyes, shielding them from the glare from that badly placed light bulb. Two faces loomed over her. One to her left, another to her right. "What...?" she repeated feeling even more dazed and confused than ever. "Who...?"  
  
"Shhhh...It's OK Lucy, you're in an exam room," the male voice re-assured, and someone to the right of her placed a hand around her shoulder, rubbing at it soothingly. "You just burnt out. Just need some rest."  
  
Oh, right Carter, she thought with a smile. Who else would tell her to watch out for something after it had already hit her three times? "Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up, Lucy?" He asked peering intently at her.  
  
"I've got one for you." She muttered at him sarcastically. He repeated the question. Lucy sighed. She squinted, six. No wait, people don't have six fingers. She shook her head, hoping that the picture would straighten. "Three, Carter. You're showing me three fingers."  
  
He nodded with a smile, satisfied that her brain, for some reason or the other, hadn't turned to mush. Lucy noted that the other figure was Abby. Abby Lockhart right? Abby handed her a drink of water, and Lucy drank it out of having nothing better to do or say. She remembered her dream. *Nightmare*. "How long...? How long was I out of it for?"  
  
Carter smiled. He was enjoying this, she realised. "About ten minutes. Had us a little worried there for a second. The other med students think you're faking to get time off."  
  
Lucy nodded numbly. Abby approached her with a stethoscope, and Lucy squinted. What was Abby doing with her hair up in two very distinctive bun-shapes on either side of her head? Her head began to hurt again. "Princess Leia?" she muttered finally. She checked the exam room quickly with her eyes. No clowns or dancing penguins, so she wasn't dreaming. But then why was Abby looking like she'd just made contact with Earth?  
  
Abby smiled, swinging her stethoscope from around her neck, and placing them over her ears with a refined knack. "I had short notice and short supplies. Completely forgot about Halloween until this morning actually."  
  
Abby placed the stethoscope over Lucy's chest. "Halloween? Since when was it Halloween?"   
  
Carter frowned, his fatherly unease returning. "Lucy, can you tell me what day of the week it is? Whose the President?"  
  
Lucy smiled for a second, before rubbing her head and feigning deep thought, the unease in Carter's eyes returning as she had intended. She smiled. "I know who the President is. Bill Clinton and it's a Tuesday. I guess these last few weeks, I've had a lot more to worry about than what day of the month it is," she paused, looking over at Carter pointedly. "What with all my night shifts and all."   
  
Carter's fears appeared to once again be assuaged that Lucy was 'all-there' and so he smiled, returning his hand to rubbing soothingly at her back. Lucy watched him briefly before returning her focus towards Abby. She was prodding her with various eye and ear torches. Being on the other side of the bed was no picnic she thought to herself. Bored with playing patient she distracted herself by pondering the how's and why's of Abby's Leia do. It seemed to defy all rational physical laws. And probably a dozen or so irrational ones.   
  
Abby's hair, reminded her to give Carter a closer inspection. He looked just like Carter did every morning... Evening. Whatever. "So, what are you supposed to be Carter?"  
  
Carter grinned looking a little miffed, "What is this? So far nobody's been able to tell." He rolled up his sleeves, revealing little puncture wounds. "I'm a drug addict." He said this as though it was the most obvious thing in the entire universe.  
  
Lucy nodded blankly, "Sure you are."   
  
Abby looked into Lucy's eyes, still fiddling around with the stethoscope. "Let me replace you."  
  
Lucy did a double take. "What?!"  
  
Abby smiled, "I said, let me trace you-your heart, I need to trace your heart."  
  
Lucy nodded quietly, giving the new girl a suspicious look when she wasn't looking.  
  
------------------  
  
Mark played with the edge of one of the glossy prints. Rachel's seventh birthday. The smiling dolled up faces of kids smiled back at him, all memories of OD-ing on cheap chocolate cake forgotten and buried by even more cheap chocolate cake.  
  
Another picture. Susan and him dancing... unaware of the camera laden Doug two feet away. When had that been, Halloween two years ago? He blinked letting his mind do the math. No. Susan left three and a half years ago. He sighed, finding yet another nostalgic, depressing photo to sigh and mope over.  
  
"Hey Mark, you not off yet?"  
  
"Hmmm," Mark replied, tilting his chair in the direction of the lounge doorway. "Um, no Carol, you?"  
  
"Uh-huh, but I'm thinking of waiting around to go to this party that Dave's been talking about. Are you going?" Carol asked, whilst simultaneously removing her scrub shirt and packing her bags.  
  
Mark didn't look up from his daze of nostalgia. "That's good. Yeah, great Carol."  
  
Carol hesitated from her task, slowly walking over to him with a bemused smile. "Mark?" She asked, peering over his shoulder. "You feeling OK?"  
  
Mark sighed, the hand on his shoulder transporting him back into reality. His gaze drifted from the mess of Kodak moments on the table. "Yeah, I'm great Carol. I'm always great."  
  
Carol eyed the scattered photographs, attempting to nail down what it was exactly that he was feeling so 'great' about. "Liar. What are you doing?"   
  
Mark scanned the stream of photos depicting 'moments' in his life. None were more recent than three years. "Oh, nothing much. Just flicking through some-" his eyes were suddenly captured by one.  
  
He picked it up, a distant smile tracing his lips. It had been the mid-seventies. Some kind of college student rally. Banners, posters, and spaced out people with long hair and dodgy trousers filled the frame.   
  
When he'd first met Jen.  
  
When everything had been what everything should have been.   
  
"Mark? What..." Carol said staring at the picture in his hand with a friendly grin.  
  
"One of those student, protest-demo things. Y'know 'love not war' and all that jazz." He continued to eye the picture in his hand; a pained expression beginning to weave it's way across his face.  
  
Carol smiled kindly, gently rubbing at his shoulder. "Mark, maybe you should take a break for a few minutes. Y'know make peace with some caffeine."  
  
Mark nodded gently, refusing to let his eyes wander from the image, "I guess."  
  
They shared a comfortable silence, as Carol waited for Mark to stir from his dazed and confused state. When, "Boo!"  
  
They both turned to find the new kid in town, Abby Lockhart (slash Princess Leia) peering over their shoulders. She was smiling in the tired, yet-still-happy manner that most med students adopted on their first few months on round. "What are we looking at?" She asked, quietly scanning across the stacks of prints strewn across the coffee table.  
  
This elicited yet another sigh from Mark. "Nothing, much. Just some old photos."  
  
Abby nodded, scanning from the ones on the desk to the one in his hand. "What's that one of?"  
  
"That would be the first time I met my wife. Uh, I mean my ex-wife." He paused, attempting to detach himself from the memories he was holding. "Guess which ones me?"   
  
Abby smiled, instantly tracing him with her index finger. "Didn't you ever have hair?"  
  
Mark and Carol smirked, and he dropped the picture back down onto the desk. "So, um, what did you want Abby?"  
  
Abby smiled politely, "Auto versus three 'trick or treater's,' ETA's four minutes."  
  
Abby paused at the doorway, turning to wait for Mark. Carol was already on the sofa, remote control in hand, attempting to find some form of late night entertainment that didn't want to bust the cellulite on her thighs.  
  
Mark threw a final glance at the photos before stretching and getting up. Abby smiled, as she held the door open for him. "So, let me guess," she said inspecting him before he walked past her and out into the Emergency department. "Einstein, right?"  
  
Mark shook his head, "Nope. Frankenstein."  
  
Abby frowned, as she attempted to match his steady pace. "Frankenstein didn't have a dodgy grey toupee last time I checked."  
  
Mark smiled, "Frankenstein was the scientist. You're thinking of his human collage."  
  
Abby nodded. "Oh, yeah right. Silly me."   
  
She hesitated outside the doorway to trauma one, stopping Mark from entering with a tentative hand. One of the nurses handed him several charts as she entered. "So have you given it any more thought?"   
  
Mark shrugged, his fingers expertly landing signatures on the required spaces on the required forms. "I don't know Abby, we like to keep our students on solid ground for the first year."  
  
Abby gave Mark a pleading look, as yet another nurse stopped past them to dish out more administration. "It's only a helicopter ride-along, no heroic measures, I promise."  
  
Mark was still frowning, "Well..."  
  
She persisted. "I will obey all orders. Word for word. Syllable for syllable."  
  
"Yeah, but..."  
  
"And I *won't* get sick in the chopper." She could see him cracking under her pressure.  
  
It wasn't so much that she wanted to fly in a chopper, but more use it as an escape. She just desperately needed a break from the monotonous scene that greeted her daily. From the same doctors, the same nurses, and all the same goddamn textbooks that they could hand out. She needed freedom, and she needed it before she exploded. Abby shaped neurons lying scattered across an exam room.  
  
He exhaled, with a light smile on his face, "I'll see what I can do Abby." He could see her face light up instantly. "But don't hold your breath."  
  
Abby grinned, satisfied, as she held the trauma door open for him, "After you Dr Frankenstein."  
  
He smiled, "Why thank you Dr Leia."  
  
They entered, received a pair of latex gloves and a gown each from the nurses, and awaited the adrenaline rush that would soon arrive.  
  
-----------  
  
"Not soon enough," Luka replied under his breath, the chart in his hand quickly finding it's way into the responsibilities of one of the nurses.  
  
"That's a pity," Miss Frost cooed, as Luka inched a few steps closer towards the door. "I do a real mean breakfast."  
  
Luka smiled kindly, "Well, like they say no rest for the wicked Miss Frost. Maybe some other time."  
  
The lady nodded enthusiastically, thanking him again for helping her, and the definite improvement with her...well her, you know.  
  
Luka sighed as he closed the exam door behind him. He made a left to the lounge, ducking as he heard a call for assistance.  
  
The room was bathed in a flickering light, and the soft hum of bad violin music, masked by hushed whispering. He turned to see Carol, half asleep on the couch, a Halloween special playing in the background.  
  
"Carol? Aren't you supposed to be off?" He muttered softly, reaching for the jug of hot coffee.  
  
"Mmmm, Dave's taking us all..." she muttered, fading out into something incomprehensible.  
  
Luka smiled, believing her to be in some dream state.   
  
He let the warmth of the cup in his hands spread to his fingertips before he gently blew on it, glancing up at the clock on the far end of the wall. Three am. That was what? An hour left? Fifty-nine minutes? Maybe even fifty-four minutes if Weaver was feeling extra especially human. An hour and fifteen minutes if she wasn't.  
  
He threw a fleeting look at the still form of the ER charge nurse, Carol Hathaway. Rumours about her and her ex-beau were legendary in the ER. On. Off. On. Off. On *and* off. And then he'd just left her one-day. Just like that.  
  
He tried to remember the guy's name. Daniel? Dan? Dug? He shrugged taking a tentative sip from the cup in his hand. Whatever it was, someone was sure missing out he thought, almost aloud.  
  
"Hey, Dr Kovac," A loud carefree voice rang out over his thoughts. Luka looked up to find Dave walking in, and he motioned for him to be quiet, pointing in Carol's general direction. Dave nodded, lowering his voice, "Please tell me there's some coffee in there."  
  
Luka smiled, handing him his cup and pouring himself another one. "So, Dr Kovac," Dave said conversationally, eyeing the new European guy, "Doing anything after work?"  
  
Luka shook his head, thinking about it quickly, "Sleep, I guess, why?"   
  
"So nothing then?" Dave replied, deductively. Luka gave another shake of the head. "Feel like a good Halloween bash to send you to sleep?"  
  
"A what?"   
  
"Exclusive party, pretty much everybody's coming. It'd be a good place to meet some of those American girls I've been telling you about, y'know find out why they call it the 'American Dream'" he said with a wink.  
  
Luka glanced over at Carol quickly, ignoring Dave's last comment. "So, who's going?"  
  
Chunni chose that moment to poke her head around the door. They both turned to face her automatically. "Hey, Luka, Mark's looking for you. Said it's important."  
  
"Like I said, *everybody's* going," Luka heard him call out as he walked back into the beckoning emergency department.  
  
He mulled over the prospect of a party as he walked over to the admin desk. "Hey Randy-"  
  
"Trauma room one." She said, not even looking up from the pages of her Cosmopolitan magazine: 'How to make yourself a better lover, friend, mother, daughter, sister, car owner, worker, and co-worker in three easy steps'.  
  
"But how did-" he tried to ask.  
  
This time she did leave her page. "-I know? You just had that look on your face."  
  
He was about to question this further, but decided that there were some things best left alone.  
  
He painted an image of 'Dave's party' in his head as he watched an incoming 911 break through the double doors; greasy food, watered down alcohol, loud music, in a room full of strange people; sounded like the perfect thing to round off an awful day -might as well hang out in Doc McGoos. But then he reflected on the opportunity to be around healthy people for a few hours.  
  
And the possibility of talking to Carol.   
  
Blinking away an image of his damp, achingly empty, one bedroom, no hot water apartment, he stalked through the busy halls in search of Mark.  
  
Dave had found himself a willing victim.  
  
-------------------------------------  
  
Shall I continue...or consider literal suicide?  
  
  



	3. Default Chapter Title

  
'In The Still of The Night Shift (part III)':  
  
'Knowing When To Say No'  
  
Rating: PG. It's good clean and wholesome.  
Archive: Go for it  
Disclaimer: And yeah Warner, Michael Chrichton etcetera, I'm messing with the sandbox, wanna make something of it?  
Author's Notes: Third part of my alternative reality story, set sometime around the end of series 5 and the beginning of series 6. Hence, Lucy's not in med student heaven, Carter's sanity is not under question, and Carol's still dreaming a dream of 'him'.   
  
And I'd like to give another thanks to my beta, Samantha Caldwell, for all the nice things she seems to find in my work, so thank you! She's also a fellow fanfic writer, and has written some pretty neat stuff, so if you've got time, GO READ!  
  
All comments, suggestions, nice and not so nice things can be sent to angelpixiedust@bolt.com.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
"Candy?"   
  
Lydia picked up another dozen or so charts with her left hand, and turned to face the group of seven year old brats- school children in home-made superman, supergirl, bright-white-sheets-with-three-holes-that-were-*not*-bright-white-sheets-with-three-holes again. "You were hoping for something a little more exotic?"  
  
They looked up at her through bits of elasticated eyewear. "Well, we were hoping for something a little more cool. Y'know, something that none of the other guys from school'll have."  
  
Lydia frowned mistily. She was thinking about the costume Al had whispered to her about this morning. Shaking her head, she returned her focus to the brats- school children, which were now watching her expectantly. "Something, cool huh?"  
  
There was a chorus of 'yeahs'. She hesitated making her way out from chairs, the band of school kids a few steps behind. "Lydia?" Kerry called out to her as she passed them by. " That gonorrhea in four still there?"  
  
Lydia smiled, turning to face her band of hopeful super heroes. "You kids know what gonorrhea is?"  
  
-----------------------  
  
Carter whistled an out of tune sing-song as he placed the last of the vials of urine into the tray. Urine samples had a coolness factor of say five seconds tops.  
  
"Let me guess," Dave said, adding his own labeled urine container to Carter's, "You are whistling..." he said, pausing dramatically as he made a mark resembling an 'x' on the patient's chart, "Carter's theme."   
  
Carter gave a slight nod of the head, "Actually it's Carter's 'only one more hour 'till home' theme." He paused, adjusting several of the vials and then picking up the tray of urine he made a beeline for halls, Dave tagging along. Carter turned to smile at him cheekily, "So, you're still dealing with the kittens in three?"  
  
Dave nodded smugly, "Make that a bunch of grateful kittens in three. I just got invited to only one of *the* most exclusive parties in Chicago. Driving them to it after my shift ends."  
  
Carter nodded, wondering why Dave managed to get all the hot patients, whilst he was left handling the OAP's with incontinence. "Yeah? What're you going to go as?"  
  
Dave still had that smug grin plastered across his boyish Mediterranean face. "Oh you know, a Doctor."  
  
Carter smirked as his eyes scanned the swarms of busy people, "Gee, your imagination really went all out on that one, Dave."  
  
Dave's smugness refused to budge. "What can I say, the chicks dig a guy in white." Yeah, almost as much as they like a sucker in white, Carter thought sardonically as Dave rounded back into curtain four.  
  
Carter's eyes managed to settle on someone who was not looking so busy. "Lucy." He called out to the petite blonde, who was quietly leaving an examination room. She blinked, searching her surroundings whilst questioning if, finally, she had taken the small side step into the realms of insanity, Carter's voice being the voice of her deranged mind. He repeated her name and she found him. The relief on her face unreadable to Carter.  
  
"Carter?" She asked, eyeing the large tray full of yellow-y liquids that he was carrying hesitantly.   
  
"How're you feeling?"  
  
Lucy shrugged, "Well, I'm still feeling a little fuzzy, and my back's a little stiff from the exam bed, why?"  
  
Carter smiled, "Good, good. But I was thinking, maybe you should take a break from seeing patients for a while."  
  
Lucy found herself smiling. Maybe Carter wasn't so bad after all, she thought. "Well, OK. So, what would you like me to do instead?"  
  
Carter returned the smile, "You know where the labs are right-?"  
  
Lucy nodded, "Yeah sure, but-"  
  
Carter grinned again, handing her the tray of fluids. "Great, lab two will be fine Lucy."  
  
She had barely managed to register the fluids in her hands before Carter was off down the corridors and out of sight. She groaned. "Yeah, great, Lucy. Just great."   
  
Watching him become just another blip on the horizon she sighed, resigning herself to her assigned fate. Plodding along slowly to the nearest elevator she questioned her ambitious career choices. Carrying bottled pee had never topped her list of future aspirations.   
  
"Lucy!" Malik said appearing out of nowhere with a knowing smile. He removed a hand from behind his back and another bottle of urine fell onto her tray.  
  
Lucy groaned, "But, why-"  
  
"Y'see I really would take it down, but... y'know how it is, Luce." Malik's attention was quickly devoted to a nurse several rooms down. He smiled, semi-apologetically, before calling out to the nurse, and then, before the bottle of bodily waste had time to settle, she was watching his dirt tracks as he made a speedy exit.   
  
Voodoo dolls, Lucy thought vengefully, that's what I need, a do-it yourself voodoo doll kit.  
  
---------------------  
  
The girl sat up, throwing the occasional glance at him as he covered all the medical bases.   
  
She was six years old, but only just, with lots of brown hair, two wide brown eyes, and small circular burns around her shoulders, bruises on her back, and not a word to say for herself. Not that Dave was expecting her to say anything. To give a lengthy description of all the 'why's' and 'how's' she was producing, but Dave figured that six year old girls usually responded well to the offer of free ice cream.  
  
There's always an exception.  
  
He got up, the examination complete, and a string of signatures and medical observations quickly transferred over to a waiting nurse. He turned to face the lady who'd brought her in, the girl's gym teacher. She had watched the ritual silently; unsure of what lines she could and couldn't cross.   
  
"So she just collapsed in gym today, no complaints of headaches, or dizziness?"  
  
The lady shook her head, "She's always been a little thin, never says much of anything. Poor thing."  
  
Dave nodded, before turning to face the girl. "Hey Katie, Miss Matthews and I are just going to step outside for a bit, but we'll be right back, OK?"  
  
Not even a shrug.  
  
He sighed frustrated, and then held the door open for the lady. Turning to face her, he managed a small smile, something to help quell her unease. "Katie is suffering from dehydration, she's malnourished, emaciated, and has a bad case of diarrhoea. We'll tank her up with some IV fluids, and make sure she gets something to eat, but," He paused, glanced at the little figure inside the room, and then back at the teacher who was wearing a sincere face of concern. "-There's only so much we can do for her, without a guardian's consent." Another pause, "would you be willing to sign some forms, allow her into out custody?"  
  
Miss Matthews sighed, thinking about all the lines she was crossing again. "Um, I really don't think..."  
  
She was holding back. Dave could see it in her eyes. "Look, we'll do the best we can, but by this time next week, she could be out, and this'll happen five, six more times, before anybody who gives a damn gets it seen to that it doesn't." He paused, "Now you can either help her now, or we can let nature run its course."  
  
Another sigh, and a weak, trying smile. "Her mother, her mother is the one you'll have to talk to. Sometimes it'll be two hours before she picks her up, sometimes three. And, um, I've seen her, well, she shouts...but I, I never thought that she..." She glanced up at the young doctor nervously, and then nodded. "Yes, I'll, uh, I'll sign them."  
  
Dave smiled, "Hey it's OK. We'll do our best," he stopped, giving her his sincere smile, "and thank you, I'm sure Katie will someday appreciate it." He patted her shoulder warmly, before proceeding over to the nursing office, to do just that.   
  
Rounding a corner, he could feel a pair of hands grab at him from behind, and then he was aware of darkness, and the slam of a door in front of him.  
  
"Wha...?"  
  
"Shhhhh, it's just me..." A female voice replied, before slowly and calculatingly trailing her lips across his back.  
  
His mind raced. 'Just me?' could mean just about every nurse from OB right through to the ER. "Uh..."  
  
She turned him to face her. "Don't tell me you've forgotten." The bleached blonde, with fast fingers inquired, an eyebrow raised.  
  
He shook his head. "No, no, of course not, um, Man-"  
  
"Macie." She replied before pulling his lips onto hers. "From the OR."  
  
He had time to nod, and remind himself which Macie, before her lips were trailing down the front of his chest and he really didn't care anymore.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Luka eyed the desk clerk warily. She returned the look, a hint of mischief lurking in the corners of her mouth.  
  
"Your turn Mr."  
  
He nodded, and then picked up another card. He let out a small triumphant smile, three queens; one more and he would be the proud owner of his own personal coffee-making slave.   
  
Randy pouted at the new card in her hand, and Luka could almost feel the win on the tips of his fingers.   
  
"Dr Kovac! Just the man I want to see," Mark said, a forcedly chirper grin on his face as he approached the administration desk.  
  
Luka glanced up at him, and quickly revealed his hand to Randy. Her smile increased, and she placed her own next to his. Four Aces. His eyes fell.   
  
"Looks like someone owes someone else a couple of porches, and a beach house in San Diego if I'm not mistaken." She grinned.  
  
Luka smiled standing up, "Would you settle for a job change? I get to be desk clerk, and you get to play God."  
  
Randy smiled looking up at him as she picked up several discarded patient forms, "Would I get any money, glory or personal satisfaction?"  
  
Luka paused. "Two out of three is not bad." He returned his gaze to Dr Greene, "Uh, Chunni said you needed to speak to me. What is it?"  
  
Mark paused as he listened to the deep European-Americanised accent, only too aware of the effect it had on the ladies, and wondering how he could posses one himself. "How would you feel about getting some fresh air, for oh say, " he motioned with his hands," An hour, two hours?"  
  
Luka gave Mark a funny look. "Why would you let me do that?"  
  
Mark smiled knowingly, "Because I just ate, and there's been an accident on the interstate. Four-car roller derby. Two already certified. Really messy stuff."  
  
Luka smiled with acknowledgement "Ah, I'm on ambulance duty."  
  
Mark shook his head with another smile, and then Conni walked by, giving Luka a friendly nudge. "Have fun up there."  
  
"Ok, I will," he said perplexed, quickly returning his attentions to their circular conversation.   
  
Mark made a face. "Not exactly. We needed someone to man one of the copters, and um, I volunteered you."  
  
Luka looked at him incredulously. "You mean I'm going to be flying in a helicopter? Now? Right now?"  
  
Mark smiled, "That would be correct."  
  
"But I-, I um," Luka began scanning his memories for one of those words that Dave would often use to get out of situations. "I uh- this is uh-"  
  
"What he means is, he would prefer it if someone came with him," Abby ad-libbed, and they both turned to exchange looks with her. "Don't you, Dr. Kovac?" She asked, and he looked down at her questioningly. "Right?"   
  
Luka turned back to Mark, figuring that his fate was already sealed anyhow, "Right. Someone to come with me," so dragging someone else along for company couldn't hurt.  
  
Mark smiled at Abby's blatant attempt to get riled in, "Gee, and who do you suppose we could ask? Deb's off right now, Carter's got a patient, and Dave is nowhere to be seen. Hmmm..." He turned to look at a grinning Abby, rubbing his chin with mock thought. "Abby, what do you say? Want to keep Luka sane for a while?"  
  
Abby shrugged with a light smile. "What the hell."  
  
Mark smiled, and quickly gave them instructions on where they would have to go, and what would be expected of them. "You guys should be back here in half an hour tops. You both cool with this?"  
  
"Does it matter if we're not?" Luka managed to mutter before Abby took hold of Luka's elbow, edging him towards the elevator before the rational side of Mark's brain had time to kick in. "Thank you Dr. Greene! You will not regret this. I promise."  
  
Mark smiled as he watched them press the call button. "Just watch out for tall buildings, OK?"  
  
Abby turned to smile at him one last time, before the metallic doors slammed shut in front of her. She could feel a surge of pure adrenaline; a touch of caffeine and all those happy hormones flow through her veins eagerly. Finally, something to look forward to. She turned to face Luka. "Man, this is so exciting."  
  
Luka sighed, not even attempting to match her keenness, "Yeah, exciting." He repeated, the thought of it all already turning him a funny shade of green.   
  
The doors to the top floor opened and Abby was the first to step out. She grinned pulling on the jackets the PA's there handed out with what Luka figured had to be an unlimited amount of enthusiasm. They were quickly briefed on safety precautions, and the do's and don'ts of treating a patient seven and a half thousand feet above ground.  
  
They were escorted to the rooftop, and greeted by the sight of a whirring helicopter only meters away from them. From this high up, Luka could see right the way across Chicago. And if he bent forward, a lovely view of the ground.  
  
"Exciting." He muttered again to himself.   
  
-----------  
  
"Dr Greene, am I going to have to do this for you?"  
  
He turned his head slightly, to catch a half smile dancing on her lips. He shook his head, returning his focus to the task at hand. "I can handle it, OK?"  
  
Lucy stepped back a little, the contents in her hands swaying with the sudden movement. "Really? So what's it going to be?"  
  
Mark pursed his lips, the look of intense concentration resuming residence on his face. His fingers rapped lightly against the tray, and his eyes again scanned through the possible options.   
  
To hell with the four food groups.  
  
"I'll have two chocolate donuts, an éclair, and a cup of your finest blackest coffee. Large, please."  
  
The lady at the counter smiled efficiently, handing him his food and his change. Lucy followed behind him, managing to maintain status quo between drinking a large cup of hot chocolate, and carrying bottled samples. An impressive feat for a sleep deprived med student. Alas not something she could scribble on her prospective employment applications.  
  
Lucy smiled, taking a seat with him at the back end of the wall. Far, far away from any sounds that might allude to the presence of an ER. She grinned, watching him wolf down the food with ease. "You do realise that your hips are probably going to hate you for that."  
  
Mark paused momentarily, glancing up to look at her bemused expression. His lips outlined by dark brown smudges. "You not hungry?"  
  
Lucy continued to watch the food disappear from the plate in front of him. She had a momentary vision of boils and pus and the stuff lurking between unwashed toes. "No. Not really. Well not anymore. And anyway they're all out of burritos. Again."  
  
Suddenly, and almost too expectedly, the sound of beeping could be heard. Each automatically reached for their own pager, and then both proceeded to sigh.   
  
Mark smiled, picking up the remainder of an éclair and the Styrofoam coffee cup. "Kid versus auto:-" he deepened his voice theatrically, "-Looks like this is another job for Batman."  
  
Lucy returned the grin, leaning back against her plastic chair. "Sure does. Guess they're going to have to make do with an ER attending huh?"  
  
Mark nodded, standing up and simultaneously stuffing the remainder of the éclair into his mouth un-self consciously. He waved Lucy a goodbye, and made a right out into the busy, festive halls of the hospital.   
  
Lucy took several more quick sips of the coffee, before succumbing to the hazardous journey that lay ahead of her. Labs. At least she wasn't being underestimated, she thought wryly.  
  
Kicking back her chair, and dumping the half full cup into the trash can she too re-entered the realms of County General; Halloween Night.  
  
------------  



	4. Default Chapter Title

'In The Still of The Night Shift (part IV):  
  
'Meeting the Parents'  
  
Rating: PG. Good clean and wholesome. And if Dave suggests anything that isn't to your liking, he's talking about the myogenic cycle of the heart, capiche?  
Archive: Go for it!  
Spoilers: It's clean.  
Disclaimers: I'm pathetic. I steal characters off of shows without permission and then parade them around for my own amusement. See, now *I* feel bad.  
Author's Notes: I haven't finished with the little delusional world that I've created, someplace between the end of series five and the uttermost beginnings of series six. It never happened. Or will happen. Has mild angst themes, and if you'd like a recap...  
  
*Lucy Knight's not too chuffed at being Dr Carter's one and only urine carrying med student extraordinaire [Hey Samantha, Amen to Microsoft Spellchecker, no?:)]  
*Dr Luka Kovac and Abby Lockhart are on the ride of a lifetime.  
*Dr Mark Greene's currently seeking *meaning* in his life. And no, they don't have an ice cream in that flavour. Yet.  
*Dr Dave's treating a girl that gets to him. And not in the way that most girls do.  
  
Feel free to critique, or even read, my story;) My ears and e-mailbox are always open...at...  
  
Angelpixiedust@bolt.com.  
  
And Samantha Caldwell, my beta and friend, thanks for all the lightning e-mails! In the words of some demi-rock god, that's most probably dead... you rock!;)  
  
---------------------------------------------  
  
Randy managed to find the phone beneath all the many layers of textbooks, patients' charts and old issues of Cosmopolitan.  
  
"Hello, County General Hospital Emergency Department, what can I do for you?"  
  
There was a slight pause. "Do you like scary movies?  
  
Randy shrugged, popping her gum, "Not really."  
  
Another muffled pause. "Oh...you don't? Sorry, wrong number *click*."  
  
Randy shrugged again, putting the phone down. As she was tidying away the mess she caught a glimpse of an old memo that had been buried beneath the chaos of her work life.   
  
Uh-oh, it was two weeks old and addressed to Dr Greene.  
  
"Uh, Jerry, you want to give this to Mark for me?"  
  
Jerry nodded, taking it from her quickly, and continuing with adding the final touches to a hollowed out pumpkin he had carved. Randy squinted at it momentarily. The beady eyes, pronounced forehead, and the fixed little pout. She succumbed to a smile. "Jerry that isn't who I think it is, is it?"  
  
Jerry turned to face her, grinning proudly. "Is it too obvious?"  
  
She nodded slowly. "Oh yeah." She paused, "Man, even as a vegetable he gives me the heebie-jeebies."  
  
"Hey a little help over here!" A voice suddenly called out from the throng of dwellers hovering around chairs.  
  
They, and the rest of the nursing staff jerked their heads up to see what was happening instinctively.   
  
Two teenagers were holding up a guy who had a knife protruding from his chest, lots of red liquid covering his shirt, and his head hung limply across his shoulder.  
  
"We were just...we were just..." The girl started, her voice becoming muffled by her whimpering.  
  
Dr Maggie Doyle, who had been busy searching for no.7 across on the New York Times Crossword, hurried out to aid the pair. She skilfully managed to take him into her arms, and began on her way to an empty trauma room. "Clear Trauma One now!" She paused, several nurses scattering ahead of her, she eyed the body in her hands. "I want a surgeon paged, get me 200cc blood-type and cross matched, and-"  
  
She stopped dead in her tracks, as the body in her hands began to shake. She released her arms from their hold, and the boy dropped, and proceeded to get up, seemingly unfazed by the fall, to remove the knife-which was plastic, his eyes watering from his laughter.  
  
"That's not funny."   
  
The kid followed along behind her, "Hey Doc loosen up will ya? We were just mucking about." He paused, catching his breath, "But you shoulda seen the look on your face. Oh man..." More laughing.  
  
Maggie reclaimed her seat by the front desk, her eyes scanning back along the lines of newspaper print, her mouth seeking the solace of her cold coffee.  
  
The kids were still laughing.  
  
She took a few breaths to quell the rapid, adrenaline-induced beating of her heart.  
  
"*Not* funny."  
  
Still laughing.   
  
She sighed. So...seven across...  
  
--And this sure beat the hell out of sleeping.   
  
-------------  
  
Lucy Knight was not the most awake of med students. But even she could decipher the subtitle that accompanied being handed the urine samples from Carter. She was disposable.   
  
And only as valuable as the data that could be extracted from it. And that was only occasionally.   
  
"Whoa, watch it!" Lucy muttered, as a bunch of hyperactive, candy coated kids rushed past her into the lift. She re-gained her footing, sighing as she realized that they were going to be on her ride.  
  
The metallic doors began to close. And then, she could hear panting, and was greeted to the sight of Carter pulling the door open and stepping beside her.   
  
He smiled. "Hey, Luce." He quickly composed himself before frowning at her. "Didn't I tell you to take those down fifteen minutes ago?"  
  
Lucy sighed.   
  
--And this was going to be some ride.  
  
----------------  
  
Dr Mark Greene was not a doctor that surrendered easily. He fought until it was a completely one-sided battle. He fought with a passion. A vengeance. All good doctors did.  
  
But this time the battle was not his.  
  
"I'm calling it. Eleven minutes past three in the morning." Mark looked back down at the small frame, covered in what he assumed was a cowboy costume, the boots, caked in the drying red liquid, joined the oversized hat and plastic goody bag at the corner of the room.  
  
The nurses were all quiet as they went about with clearing things up, only so that the process could be continued again later, with some other person's kid.  
  
One of the surgeons who had attempted to save her was just as transfixed. "This sucks," the lady, Dr Corday, muttered, as she snapped off her gloves roughly, turning to leave the haunting image behind.  
  
Mark watched her go without saying a word. He knew how she felt. Picking up her boots, he placed them at the end of the bed. And then tucking the little girl's shirt into her jeans, he too stepped outside.  
  
Elizabeth had been standing against the door. Well, at least that was the way he had found her on leaving. She turned to smile at him politely and motioned for a middle-aged couple sitting along some seats several feet away.  
  
She looked back at him with a slight nod. And then quietly, they both approached the couple.  
  
This immediately warranted a response from them both, and they stood up, their faces tense with the only question that they wished answered.  
Dr Greene and Dr Corday couldn't bring a polite smile to their faces, both only too aware of how misleading that could appear. Dr Greene motioned for them to sit, but they refused with a firm shake of the head.  
  
Sighing Dr Corday eyed them both, holding steady eye contact with the first part of what was said, but quickly letting it slide, as the raw, intense emotions registered on their faces.  
  
The woman clutched at her mouth, shaking as the finality of it hit her. Her husband had to hold her up, soothingly rocking her in his arms, saving his own tears for some more private place, where he could cry uninhibited and undisturbed.  
  
Both doctors refrained from breaking down with them. Their cool disposition not faltering once, not even as they watched the pair being led to their child's motionless body, the ladies head on her husband's shoulder.   
  
Mark closed his eyes as the door shut behind them, feeling both overwhelmingly exhausted and overwhelmingly disheartened. The young surgeon was still standing by his side when he opened his eyes. "This sucks," he mouthed, before finding the strength needed to walk away.  
  
He turned to look back once, "Coffee?" he asked simply.  
  
She glanced back across at the trauma room. Complete stillness. Just the constant hollow hum of hospital life. Or death as it were. Not that she was expecting any different.  
  
She sighed, and finding her own inner strength, followed behind him.  
  
--And this was some way to live.  
  
----------------------------------  
  
Dr David Malucci was not the least merry of all fresh-faced residents. Not at the best of times. And especially not when a breathy voice, and perky-ness of any kind was involved.  
  
Winking, Dave turned to face her one last time. "You gonna be good whilst I'm gone?"  
  
The blonde, well almost blonde, nurse nodded, doing up the final buttons on her blouse, "You betcha."  
  
Dave gave another lazy smile. "How disappointing."  
  
The nurse's lips curled up at him, and she pulled him in for a final farewell kiss, "Only until you come back."  
  
Dave continued to smile as the shut the exam door behind him. He quickly scanned his surroundings, and then proceeded to whistle as he walked through the halls of the emergency department, a dopey, satisfied grin plastered across his face.  
  
"Malucci?"  
  
Dave stroked down his tousled hair, and turned to dazzle Weaver with one of his Oscar winning smiles. "Yes Dr Weaver, what can I do for you?"  
  
He had only just managed to sneak out from the dark exam room without anyone noticing his brief disappearing act. He really had to work on his libido, and just how darn cute he seemed to be in a pair of scrubs.  
  
"Dave, the mother of Katie Stevenson is waiting for you at admin. Do you want me to keep security on stand-by in case this gets tricky?"  
  
Dave nodded, his proficient manner kicking in. "Yeah, good idea Weaver." He said, before turning to continue on his merry way.  
  
"Oh and Dave," Weaver said, stopping him again in his tracks.  
  
He turned to smile at her. "Yeah chief?"  
  
"You have lipstick on your collar."  
  
Dave eyed the corner of his shirt quickly, his smile almost wilting. "Uh...I think you'll find that's type 0 negative blood," he paused, and slyly eyed the halls around him. "Hey, hold up a sec, is that patient making off with hospital supplies...?  
  
Weaver's eyes quickly reverted to the innocent enough patient, and as she marched into his direction Dave could already hear the lecture the poor guy had never seen coming.   
  
Dave grinned, heading onwards.  
  
Miss Stevenson was a gaunt looking woman, who looked like a roughened version of her daughter. Dave could feel the tense aura that settled around her from several meters away. She was leaning against the admin desk, sighing as if to demonstrate her impatience.   
  
"Miss Stevenson, I'm Dr David Malucci, I've been treating your daughter." He said, offering a hand.  
  
She looked down at it, and then up at him. "Can I take her home now?"  
  
Dave smiled thinly taking back his hand, "We need to talk-"  
  
"I thought we were."  
  
Another thin smile. "Look there are some things I need to talk with you about." He paused, attempting to read her stone cold face. Attempting to find some hint of concern. "Katie's severely underweight, and malnourished, and I need to know why Katie has cigarette burns on her shoulders, and bruises on her back."  
  
Miss Stevenson continued to avoid his gaze, wearing a studied and perfected face of boredom. "I don't know."  
  
He sighed, agitatedly thwacking his stethoscope against his thigh rhythmically. "Well, what exactly are you feeding her on?"  
  
Another uninterested shrug. "I don't remember."  
  
"So you don't remember what you feed her." He muttered, almost too sardonically, mildly noticing the attention they were receiving from the nosy nursing staff. "And you don't remember how these bruises appeared on her upper arms, or why her blood sugar level is so low it almost doesn't read." He could feel his voice raise a notch.  
  
The lady, who was probably only a few years younger than he was, returned the glare, her lips pursed together tightly. "She eats whenever she wants."  
  
"And she didn't *want* to eat today?"  
  
Miss Stevenson gave another withering, 'my time is precious, appreciate my being here' look. "Maybe she forgot."  
  
Dave nodded, smiling wryly. This was too much. "Right, six year old girls have a tendency to do that: forget they're hungry. I think there's actually a medical term for that; bad mothers."  
  
This comment snapped Miss Stevenson into action, and she pushed past Dave into the exam area. "Hey Katie, Katie where are you? We're going home now sweetie."  
  
Her eyes scattered across the windows of each exam room she passed, Dave hot on her heels. She quickly stormed into one, and Dave managed to reach hold of her arm in time, pulling her back.  
  
"Katie! Katie!"  
  
Katie watched on silently from the bed as Dave, and several security men held back her now screaming mother. She didn't say a word as her mother called out her name repeatedly, amidst a flurry of arms and security badges.   
  
"Katie! Katie!"  
  
Didn't tear her eyes away as Dave collapsed onto the floor, Miss Stevenson's nails cutting into his skin, her fists banging desperately against his chest.   
  
"Katie! Katie!"  
  
The security guards managed to lift her up off him, virtually having to drag her through the halls into some safe vantage point, that Dave couldn't care less about, just as long as it was far away from her daughter.  
  
He picked himself up off the floor, ignoring the Jerry Springer style audience that had gathered around the scene, dragged a hand through his hair and sighed.  
  
He turned to look back into the exam room. Katie still had that empty, lost look on her face, and was now watching him watch her.  
  
--And there's always an exception.  
  
----------  
  
Abby Lockhart was not the most grounded of med students at the best of times. But now, almost fifteen thousand feet above the rest of the world, she could barely contain herself.  
  
She watched silently as the city below her, framed by the peeling metallic paint of her window seat, became more, and more 2D. Her eyes strained to probe out the thick, morning darkness that hung like a fog over the city.   
  
And yet there wasn't total and obsolete darkness, it was marred by hundreds of thousands of little lights that flickered a sign of life. Lights from people who were working up late to finish crucial business reports, students staying up to memorize all the differential theories of calculus, people taking the much dreaded night shift, and all those naturally nocturnal people returning home from another night's adventure.   
  
Tourists, waking babies, worried girlfriends, drinking boyfriends, naughty children, thieves, firemen on standby, police cars in action, and all those content, candy filled people returning home from a masked Halloween do.   
  
And all of them unaware of her curious eyes straining to catch them in action.   
  
Had it not been for the safety belt fastened around her waist, her face would have been pressed right up against the glass.   
  
Being up there, at such an objective angle over the world gave her a feeling...nothing; well...almost nothing was remotely comparable.  
  
"--And oh wow, I think that's the Sear's tower."  
  
"--And oh my god, I think that's Michigan Avenue!"  
  
"--And oh look, you can even make out my apartment block from here. Hello apartment!"  
  
She turned to grin at Dr Kovac.  
  
His eyes were glazed over, focused onto some marking on the metal flooring in front of him.  
  
"Dr Kovac?"   
  
He didn't glance up.  
  
"That's great Abby." He shouted back after some silence.   
  
She raised an enquiring eyebrow.  
  
"Oh and gee, isn't that the giant man eating bunny rabbit of New Mexico, Dr Kovac?"  
  
"Yeah, great Abby."  
  
"He's even got a little pocket watch, and a waistcoat..."  
  
"Great, Abby."  
  
She smiled, one eye still trained onto his reaction. "I think he's about to take over the world. You think we should call in the giant-bunny-eating-turkey-of-Atlantis or something? I think it might be giant bunny season."  
  
"Yeah, great Abby."  
  
She sighed, moving her face into his line of vision. His head remained fixed, but his eyes turned to look into hers.   
  
"Is everything OK Dr Kovac?"  
  
He gave a weak smile. "Sorry Abby, what was it you were saying?"  
  
She shook her head, slightly concerned by his green complexion. "Uh, nothing important." She paused. "You do realize that there's like a trillion to one chance that we're going to crash don't you?"  
  
His eyes returned to that single imperfection of metal within the flooring. "A trillion to one?" He repeated, with a slight smile.  
  
Abby grinned. "And that would be on a really bad day." She paused, "Well I'm feeling pretty lucky today, how about you?"  
  
His eyes had glazed over again. "Lucky. Yeah, great Abby."  
  
She sighed, and turned to face one of the helicopter technicians, who had said something.  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"Your first time?" He repeated, having to shout to be heard over the noise of the choppers and the engine.   
  
She grinned, "Yeah," she glanced back at the pale Dr Kovac, "Both of our first times."  
  
"Good view, huh?"  
  
She nodded furiously, tired of having to shout to be heard.  
  
"He not a fan?"  
  
She frowned, her gaze returning to the doctor. "Uh...he just ate." She shouted back quickly. She had a feeling pride was a contributing factor in his silence.  
  
He nodded in understanding, before turning to speak to the captain, or the driver, or whatever the head honcho who had control over this thing was called, and then after several nods at him, returned his focus to both of them.  
  
"Prepare for landing!"  
  
It wasn't an order.   
  
She braced herself against the back of the machine, the movement from the choppers on top echoing throughout the whole metal framework.  
  
The chopper shuddered as it drew into the ground.  
  
And then she could feel Dr Kovac's body shudder, releasing all its fragmented nutrients into a mess of stomach acids onto the *almost* perfect flooring below them.  
  
--And it was a hell of a ride.  
  
-----------------  
  
Lucy Knight was not the most patient of medical students at the best of times. And yet, the high tolerance levels that she had developed as a med student almost always managed to contain her self-control.  
  
"That's *my* pokeman sucker!" one of the kids suddenly cried out, grabbing at what Lucy figured must have been at least a hundred or so pokeman suckers.  
  
Self-control that came quite in handy, being the 'struck-off-as-dumb/valueless/unworthy' student of Dr Carter that she happened to be.   
  
She sighed, only two floors with them, just *two* floors.  
  
That self-control was presently being tested. To all unhealthy limits.  
  
"No, it's mine!" The other kid sneered, refusing his vice-like grip on the bag of sweeties.  
  
She glanced around to face Carter, who seemed to be completely oblivious to them. Attempting to keep her cool in front of her superior, she looked straight a head and dragged a palm across her face.   
  
"Mine!"  
  
"Uh-uh, MINE!"  
  
"No, MINE!"  
  
"UH, UH. *MINE*!"  
  
Lucy cringed. Just chill Luce, just count to ten, and keep your cool...  
  
"MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! *MI-NE*!"  
  
"Nu-uhhhhhhh!!!"  
  
Deep breath, one-a-thousand, two-a-thousand, three-a-thousand...  
  
She usually liked kids. Enjoyed all that wanton, destructive energy they seemed to yield, but today, well, today she wondered if she herself had ever been a kid. Questioned if she hadn't just been born twenty-four. And the fact that she hadn't had any sleep the past few years in medical school, had *just* missed the last burrito in the cafe, and that she was presently carrying an assorted variety of human waste fuelled that bitter angst.   
  
No, today, kids truly did bite.  
  
It was several seconds before she realized that the sound of the kids squabbling had ceased. Wondering if she really did have psychic abilities after all she turned to face them. Her eyes widened, and for the first time that day she found herself at a loss for words.  
  
--And this was getting interesting.  
  
--------------------  
  
is it... onwards and upwards? Or is this the part where I surrender to all things wholly and decent?:)  



End file.
